


Heavy in Your Arms

by shimmeryshine



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimmeryshine/pseuds/shimmeryshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s going to need to down three Red Bulls after this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy in Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DianaMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaMoon/gifts).



Dyson knows.

 

He knows this is a bad idea, has been a bad idea since the first time he let Bo feed from him, since the first time he agreed to being _friends with benefits_. It’s still a bad idea now, but when she comes to him broken and bleeding and begging, what’s he supposed to do? Turn her away? Let her die? He can feel his own strength humming through his veins as she sucks in a raggedy breath that doesn’t come close to filling her damaged lungs. Her hands are gripping his biceps tightly, possibly the only thing still keeping her upright. She’s in _bad_ shape. Whatever Fae she decided to pick a fight with had been sorely underestimated.

“Please Dyson,” she begs, rubbing her nose lightly against the column of his neck all the way up to his ear. She can feel his throat bob as he swallows thickly. “I don’t think I can control myself with a human right now,” she leans back far enough to look him in the eyes. “I don’t want to kill someone.”

He doesn’t want her killing anyone either, and if he’s honest with himself, he really doesn’t want her running off to another Fae for a healing session. He feels his body reacting to her proximity, and pulls her in for a kiss without a word. She knows what he would say anyway, it’s pointless to put off her healing for a rehash of all the reasons why they should not be doing this. It only makes him seem weak to keep saying the same things over and over and never follow through.

Bo moans loudly as he grabs her roughly by the arms and pins her against the brick wall at her back. She winces as her injured shoulder makes contact with the abrasive facade, but Dyson does not relent. What they do is not gentle and sweet, can never _be_ gentle and sweet. Not for them. There is too much at stake.

Bo jumps in his arms as she hears a car door slam not too terribly far away. She casts a glance down the deserted alleyway behind the pub, looking for any peering eyes as Dyson shoves up her skirt, but sees only blackness. It’s nearly 4am and they are blissfully alone.

Dyson shoves a hand into her hair, using the other one to balance her against the wall. He pulls her in for a kiss, sliding his tongue hotly into her mouth, making her squirm. He can feel her whole body throb as she pulls back from his mouth, pulling his chi with her. It’s a draining feeling, but not altogether unpleasant when she’s grinding herself against his crotch. He wants to have her against the wall, knowing the brick will be unforgiving. He wants it to hurt a little, _sting_ a little. He won’t let her down long enough to pull off her underwear, so instead he shoves it aside, sliding two fingers right where she wants them. She makes a pitifully needy sound as he crooks them inside of her, palming her clit with every stroke. Her hips are flying off the wall as he works at her, sucking at the hollow of her throat.

“Dyson, I need…” she trails off, moaning as Dyson adds a third finger. He wants her to beg for it. “ _Fuck_. I need you inside me Dyson, please.”

At least she has the presence of mind to be _polite_. He is doing her a favor after all.  

She has his zipper down before he realizes she’s even snaked a hand between them, and then he’s thrusting himself into her hot little hand. He’s so ready for her she could cry with relief.

When he thrusts inside of her, it’s fast and without warning. She grunts and he swallows it with a greedy mouth, groping a hand up the side of her body. She takes everything he has to give and more, pulling his life energy into her body as if it were her own. She _makes_ it her own.

He’s going to need to down three Red Bulls after this.

 

 

 

Dyson idly scratches at the mostly healed bite mark on his shoulder as he sips from a pint of beer at the pub. His eyes are on Bo, chattering away with Lauren on the couches at the far end of the room. She’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, back bared for his hungry gaze, skin flawless. There should be scratch marks there, angry red rips in her skin from the brick he’d pressed her against not three days ago, but instead she is as pristine as the day she was born and he is the one with deep scratch marks down his back, eight perfect teeth marks on his shoulder, and a succubus hangover that just won’t quit.

He grimaces as Lauren puts a hand on Bo’s forearm, giving her that openly flirty smile she loves to wear in the brunette’s presence. Whatever Bo is saying is making the doctor laugh, threading a hand into her hair as she looks down into her lap and then up through her eyelashes at the charming succubus. It makes him want to punch something. It makes him want to start a fight in hopes of Bo getting injured enough that he'd have an excuse to heal her. An excuse to get her away from Lauren and that painfully sincere look in her eyes. He has made it more than clear that he can never be more than a friend to her, can’t be to her what he saw lurking in the back of her eyes those first few times they were together. Can’t be what he suspects Lauren is becoming.

 _How pathetic_ , Dyson thinks as Trick slides a new pint in his direction. The small man is giving him a look he knows perfectly well. It means: stop getting emotionally involved. Who would get emotionally involved with an undeclared succubus if they had a choice? Certainly not him. She was just so damn _captivating._

It makes him want to embrace his Fae nature and take to the woods, run as fast as he can until he howls at the burn in his chest and rips something apart like the animal that he is. He can practically feel the blood dripping down his chin as his eyes flash golden in the dim light of the room.

Dyson slams his pint down on the bar harder than is necessary and pointedly does not look to see if Bo has noticed as he rises from his stool. His skin is humming as he strides purposely for the door, desperate for a worthy distraction.

 

 

  
It's late, really late, when he turns up on Bo's doorstep. He bangs twice with a closed fist on the disgracefully rotted door, realizing belatedly that he might wake Kenzi instead of Bo. He's not sure he can handle her particular brand of mocking humor in his agitated state. Thankfully, when the door opens, it's a sleep mussed succubus that is standing on the other side.

"Dyson?" she asks curiously, running a hand through her loose hair. She's only wearing a t-shirt that barely hangs to the middle of her thighs. He lets his eyes sweep over her for a moment, the movement perking Bo's interest. "Is something wrong?"

Dyson shakes his head, unsure of what to say now that he is standing in front of her. He finally settles on "are you hungry?" Bo gives him a curious stare, canting her head to the side to evaluate him for a moment. The wave of hormones she's getting from his direction leave no doubt in her mind what kind of _hungry_ he means.

Dyson stands stoically on her doorstep (or rather the broken piece of molding jutting out dangerously against the cracked cement where her doorstep should be) and waits for her answer. "Yeah, I could eat," she finally says, taking a step back so he can enter. He nods and steps over the threshold.

His eyes stay glued to the swing of her hips as he follows her down the dark hallway to her bedroom, somewhat surprised that she has not tried to lighten the mood with some inappropriate sexual innuendo. He thinks maybe she's not as clueless about his real feelings as he thought she was.

As they reach her bed, Bo turns around to face him for the first time, inhaling his scent as he invades her personal space. Their eyes are locked together as he reaches up to cup her face with both hands, leaning down for a hungry kiss. He's rougher than he means to be, but he wants to provoke her. Wants her to be so distracted that she doesn't question why he's even here.

Bo moans hotly against him as he crushes their torsos together, feeling her breasts flatten against his chest through the thin layer of her t-shirt. She threads a hand into his hair, pulling him closer, opening her mouth for the taking. He slides his tongue inside at the invitation, reveling in the slick heat that travels straight to his groin. She breathes into his mouth as he suddenly puts his hands under her backside and flips her onto the bed.

She lets out an _umpf_ as her back hits the mattress, her shirt riding up high enough to make it perfectly obvious that she isn't wearing any underwear. Dyson can't help but stare, his scorching gaze lingering until he finally meets her eyes. She looks amused. Amused and aroused. He wants to wipe the look off her face and replace it with something much less restrained.

His hands travel teasingly up her bare thighs, making her bite her lip to keep in the sounds he knows are stuck in her throat.

"You're such a fucking tease, Dyson," she taunts, spreading her legs wider. It's an invitation and a command all in one gesture.

He momentarily steps back, removing his hands from her skin, much to her chagrin, and strips off his jacket and t-shirt in one smooth motion. He watches her brown eyes follow the trail of his muscles down to his cut hip bones and sucks in a breath as she reaches out to trace a finger along the indentation. She's looking him in the eyes again when she suddenly inches forward, tracing the same place with the pointed tip of her tongue. Dyson inhales a sharp breath, giving away his true reaction to her touch without meaning to, and then snaps, pushing at Bo's shoulders until he has her completely pinned to the bed.

She's not usually one for being dominated, but she allows him this for the time being and only captures his lips for another kiss. Although she is eagerly participating in his ruse for sating her "hunger", Dyson is acutely aware that she has not fed on him at all since his arrival. Usually she is not shy in taking what she needs. Trying to get a reaction out of her, Dyson slides one of his denim-clad thighs up between her legs, letting it rub the perfect amount of friction against her center. "Take what you need, Bo," he husks into her ear, making her shiver.

She rotates her hips against his thigh, groaning deliciously when she feels him flex his muscle beneath the fabric. "Dyson, we can just -" she starts, but he cuts her off with a vicious kiss.

He needs this to be about her, about why she needs him to be here, otherwise all he has left is the confusing swirl of feelings trying to burrow their way inside of him. Trying to find a way _out_ of him. So instead of acknowledging that she has even spoken, he decides to do his best to make her completely lose control.

Lauren has been teaching her to reign in her baser needs, but he's pretty sure she'll lose it if he provokes her enough. She knows she can't kill him, so it's only a matter of time before she stops resisting. He almost needs the draining feel of her power as much as he needs his release.

He palms a breast firmly under her shirt, twisting a little the way she likes it, and she lets out a gasp as the twinge of pain mixed with pleasure ratchets up her arousal another notch. She has one hand in his hair and the other shoved in between them, trying to pop the button on the fly of his jeans. She's successful after only a few fumbles, and Dyson grunts into her ear as she slowly pulls down his zipper, pressing her hand tantalizingly against the inseam of his pants. He can feel her smiling smugly against his lips as he twitches against her knuckles, and then she's pushing the jeans down and over his hips. He stops touching her long enough to kick them off of his legs, and watches with eager eyes as she rips her shirt up and over her head.

The look on her face is much more unfocused than the last time he looked, closer to losing control. Closer to taking what she wants. Instead of crawling back up her body for another kiss, Dyson decides to grab onto her milky thighs, pulling her forward until his face is directly over her dripping core. He pauses for a moment, his breath the only thing making contact with her sensitive skin, and feels her contracting the muscles in her thighs in a mighty effort not to thrust her hips forward and against his face. "Did you want something, Bo?" he asks, unable to fight the urge to tease her even now.

She lets out a jumble of unintelligible curses and then lifts her head just high enough for him to see her eyes. They have the faintest hint of blue around the edges. " _Lick_ ," she commands, delighting in the shiver the word sends down his spine. Her hand is in his hair a moment later, and then he is letting himself be forcibly pushed down down down until his tongue flicks out and Bo stops remembering how to breathe.

He disengages just as Bo's back starts arching off the bed and a string of "yes yes yes's" start spilling from her lips. It's cruel, he knows, bringing her to the edge only to back off at the last second, but he needs her wild, out of control. She doesn't like being denied.

She's furious as he sits up on the bed, wiping his mouth lewdly with the back of his hand. "Dyson, what the fuck?" she asks, sounding pissed as _hell_. He sees her snake one of her own hands between her legs to take her own edge off, but that won't do for what he's after, so he captures her wrist, making a _tsk tsk_ sound. Her eyes flash icy blue as she finally launches herself at him, flipping him onto his back so she can straddle him. Her arousal is marking his stomach as she rubs herself against him for a moment, pinning his hands down with both of hers. She looks like a wild animal in heat. His cock twitches as she starts sliding downward, so close to the place he wants her to be.

It takes her about three seconds to mount him and slide home, letting out an indecent moan as he bottoms out inside of her. She raises her hips and steadies herself with her hands against his naked chest, and then slams back down, rotating counterclockwise against his pelvis. She does this two more times before he feels the telltale signs of her losing control. Her eyes turn black and her nails dig into his pectorals, leaving scratches that will remind him of this night for days to come. The deep pull of his life energy greedily flowing into her body feels familiar, soothing. He grits his teeth as she starts thrusting faster, taking and taking and taking. He feels lightheaded in more ways than one as he grips her hips tightly. He doesn't want to tell her to stop, but he knows he can't afford to give her much more of himself without serious consequences.

She must feel the effect it's having on him, because she chooses that exact moment to speak. "Are you going to let me kill you Dyson?" she gasps, reaching up a hand to palm her own breast. He thrusts his own hips up at the sight.

 _Fuck_.

She abruptly cuts off the flow of energy from him, giving him the reprieve he wasn't going to ask for. He can feel her tensing above him; it never takes long after she is done feeding for her to finish. She is at her highest right after she's had her fill. Instead of flipping her onto her back to finish her off the way he sometimes does, he slides a hand along her thigh again and presses it against her aching clit. He feels her inner walls clench around him like a vice, drawing out his release almost immediately. He furiously rubs against her slippery skin until she breaks over him, bowing perfectly against the backdrop of her ceiling.

He watches her intently until she finally goes boneless and slumps down against his chest, panting with her effort. He rubs circles on her back as she comes down, and then she’s flipping over and off of him, stretching out her body languidly amongst the blankets. She peeks over at him through the hair falling in front of her eyes, looking like she wants to ask him a question, but she must decide against it because instead she says, “There’s Gatorade in the fridge, if you need to replace your electrolytes or whatever.”

“My electrolytes,” he repeats, the scientific term for what she might have taken from him seeming foreign on her tongue.

“Yeah,” she says, rolling onto her back and pushing the hair out of her eyes with her fingers. “Lauren says that should help.”

The sound of her name there, in bed with them, is almost like a slap in the face. He rolls out of bed without comment, pulling on his jeans as he hears Bo slip back under the covers. He pads into her dark kitchen, picking his way through half empty plates and bowls full of old cereal until he reaches the fridge. As promised, there are six bottles of Gatorade: assorted flavors on the top shelf. He snags a red one, opening the lid with a snap of plastic. Dyson is chugging the beverage in large gulps when he hears wood creak in the hall outside the bathroom. Lowering the bottle reveals a frumpy looking Kenzi in sweatpants and a crazy looking long sleeved shirt, her hair matted against the side of her face. She quirks an eyebrow at him, noting his lack of clothing and then mouths the word _busted_ before backing up the way she had come with a smirk. He can’t help but smile at her unexpected antics as he finishes off his Gatorade in three more swallows. As he makes his way back toward Bo’s bedroom, he knows he should leave, should pick up his clothes and go, but her warm bed is calling to him. As is the naked succubus currently passed out among the sheets, but that is a thought process for another day.  

He shucks his pants as he makes his way back over to the side of her bed, undressing before he’s even admitted to himself that there is no way he’s going anywhere. His eyes never leave her face as he slides under the sheets, amazed at how peaceful she looks when she’s asleep. All of the righteous girl-against-the-world bravado has slipped from her features leaving her still and radiant. He could stare at her forever. Surprisingly, it’s Kenzi’s voice in his head that makes him finally tear his gaze away. He can practically hear her speaking over his shoulder, telling him how creepy it is to stare at people while they’re sleeping. Something about a stalker vampire movie that she finds disturbing. She wouldn’t shut up about it the time she had overheard him and Bo talking about the vampire she had been trying to get information out of.  He blinks and shakes his head to clear the energetic younger woman’s voice from his brain, and lays his cheek against the pillow Bo is half pressed against. As usual, she’s sprawled out over three quarters of the bed, leaving him very little choice about where to put his limbs. Even in her sleep she can’t keep her hands off people.

As Dyson slides an arm around her waist and buries his face into her hair, he finds that he doesn’t quite mind.

 

Sometimes the bad ideas are the ones that make you feel alive.


End file.
